Honestly, if everyone had a Grandma to love them like mine, there would be no wars because everyone would know better. They’d worry that Grandma would find out and pinch their ears for misbehaving.
You’ve heard the expression, “they don’t make ‘em like that anymore”? That’s the kind of stock my Grandma Helen comes from.
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| ©2011 All Rights Reserved Photo courtesy of Ford Family Library |
Grandma can tell you all about ration stamps, oleo, cans of Klim, and the many uses of the Sears-Roebuck catalogue.
She’s the epitome of strength & perseverance. Can you imagine the world she was a kid in? I can but at the same time, I really can’t. There was radio, but only a few folks actually had one. Even less had a car.
There was no TV, no internet, and no video games. No one had a telephone in their house- what on earth would you need to tell someone that is so important that it can’t wait till you see them at church on Sunday?
Growing up in the middle of the sticks, there were no indoor bathrooms. If you had to go, you went in the outhouse. Hence, one of the many uses for the aforementioned Sears-Roebuck catalogue. If you had to go at night, either you lit a kerosene lamp, put on your shoes and trudged outside, or you went in a pot that was kept under the bed. Someone would have to empty that pot in the morning but that was just how things were done.
When she was a young girl, the simple things in life still mattered and she could appreciate them in a way that few of us today ever could. Going to the neighbor’s house to eat dried lima beans and floury biscuits was a treat. I remember her telling me that those beans weren’t even really done cooking. When you poured them from the pot, they actually clinked against the bottom of the bowl. Her brother, Uncle Alton, once told me that when you bit into one of the biscuits, flour poofed out of your mouth like a cloud.
As they told me these stories when I was a child, I could almost see those biscuits and beans. Didn’t want to try them, mind you, but I can understand why she treasured getting to go to the Ryalls’s for dinner.
Dinner is the meal you eat in the middle of the day, by the way. Supper is the evening meal. There is indeed a difference.
Some of my oldest and best memories of childhood revolve around Grandma in some way. Whether it was being at her house or playing in the old oak tree in her yard or her just being there, she plays a role in nearly all of my childhood memories.
One thing that sticks out clearly in my mind is the whole reason behind this blog: Flour-sack dresses.
When Grandma was a little girl, her Daddy was the switch-man on the train that went from one end of the county to the other. Back then, very little was disposable; you reused everything you could. As such, flour (and other commodities) came in huge printed fabric sacks. The ladies would then make clothes from that fabric. Often, it was a pretty calico print that was best used for a dress.
As the train conductor, her father (Grandpa Parker) was the one who’d go pick up the shipment when it came in. She said he’d always choose the prettiest patterns and set them aside for his wife and girls.
As a little girl, I wanted a “flower” sack-dress so badly that I begged my Mama to make me one. She said she couldn’t because they didn’t make flour-sacks like that anymore. I was convinced that if we just went to the fabric store, we’d be able to find flowers that would work nicely on my sack-dress. When I realized she meant a flour-sack dress, and not a flower sack-dress, I was undaunted. I wanted one anyway. Still do, actually.
When my first baby was born, I remember her telling me that since her baby (my grandfather, Tommy) and her younger sister were within a few months of being the same age, she and her Mama often shared the responsibility of breastfeeding. I know that in this day and age, such a thing is nearly unheard-of; but to them it was nothing out of the ordinary. Today, when so many moms choose not to breastfeed at all, can you imagine helping your mother nurse your baby sister? A baby sister who also has Down’s syndrome, no less.
I’ve often heard it said that everyone has a gift. A talent, if you will, that is God-given. Not necessarily unique but is innate in each and every one of us. If that’s so then Grandma Helen is a teacher.
Don’t know how to shell peas? Well, child, pull up a chair, I’ll get you a pan full of peas and you’ll learn.
Don’t know how to make ice cream? Well, let’s go get the churn and I’ll show you.
Don’t know how to clean? Well, let me get you a bottle of Windex and a rag; I’ll show you how to clean.
I can’t recall a time I spent with Grandma that she didn’t teach me something in one way or another; even if I didn’t realize I was learning something at the time.
She’s also a care-giver. The ability to give of yourself unselfishly is a rare and special trait. My grandmother possesses the kindest, most caring soul I’ve ever known.
It didn’t occur to me until I was an adult that Grandma has been caring for someone else nearly her entire life. When she was a kid, she helped with her younger siblings. As a young woman, she had a husband and son. As the years went on, she took care of her mother and baby sister, Bobbie. In fact, Bobbie (the sister with Down’s) lived with her for many, many years and Grandma cared for her as if she were her own child.
In many ways, especially mentally, Bobbie was still a very young child. She functioned well and we could understand her but she wouldn’t have done well outside of our family circle.
I know there are days I am impatient with my boys. At 6 and 8, they can be quite a handful. I have to remind myself that they’re just little boys and will be grown before I blink again. I take bittersweet comfort in the idea that they will one day grow up, leave home and have families of their own.
As I look back, I can rarely remember a time when Grandma was impatient with Bobbie. Unlike me, she didn’t have the preconceived notion that Bobbie would one day grow up and leave home. When Bobbie came to live with her, she took on the responsibility of an adult-child. That alone gives me a respect for her the likes of which I cannot describe.
Grandma has taught me the value of visitin.’ Few things are better for the soul than sittin’ & visitin’ for a while. You can sit & visit over sweet tea or coffee or blueberry cream pie. There are few better places to sit & visit than the orange booth in the kitchen of her house.
No where else smells the way Grandma’s house smells. It’s a heady combination of old linoleum, lemon Pledge and something cooking. Bizarre, I know, but every once in a blue moon I’ll get a random whiff of that scent and suddenly I’m seven years old again, running through her backdoor with my pigtails flying. I can almost hear the rattle of the screen door slamming against the door frame at the same time her voice calls out, “Don’t slam that door!”
It’s a wonderful reminder that somewhere in a simpler time I will always be that same barefoot little girl in blue overalls and pigtails.
When I was in elementary school, Mama dropped me off at Grandma’s every morning. She would make me breakfast and then put me on the bus. If memory serves, the bus came at 8:20 so I had to be finished with my French toast by then. But for those thirty or so minutes that I was with her every morning, I was the Queen of the Known Universe.
She sat me down in the booth, fixed me whatever I wanted for breakfast, quizzed me on the times-tables and then either put me on the bus or drove me the three miles to school. Every morning, she waited on me like my hands were glued on and gave me her full and undivided attention. Those mornings with Grandma taught me that it doesn’t take much to make someone feel incredibly special.
She’s also taught me the value of listening and hearing. There is a difference. Listening means you heard someone, hearing means you understood them. Grandma has always heard me. Always. No matter what cockamamie idea I come up with, she’s always heard me.
She’s taught me the importance of being able to laugh at yourself. She’ll be the first to admit she isn’t eloquent or very well-spoken but she has a way of getting her point across just the same.
Out in the field in front of her house there is a line of pear trees and one peach tree that Grandpa planted many years ago. I think they’re mostly dead today but a few years ago, Marcee and I were in Grandma’s kitchen sittin’ & visitin.’ The subject of pears came up and Grandma commented that we really should go pick all those peaches off that pear tree. Marcee and I exchanged a confused look and then burst out laughing. Realizing what she said, Grandma joined in the laughter, too. To this day, peaches-off-a-pear tree remains one of those things I can say to Marcee that makes her laugh.
Grandma has taught me that there are few foods more comforting than chicken & dumplin’s, buttered biscuits, collard greens, blueberry cream pie & sweet tea.
Chicken & sticky rice will work in a pinch, but there’s nothing else in the world quite like Grandma’s chicken & dumplin’s.
Along that same line, she’s also taught me that there are few foods worse than unsalted & unbuttered grits. Blech.
Even though I’ve tried to make my chicken & dumplin’s turn out like hers, I know I will never be able to manage it because hers have an ingredient I can’t possibly include- a grandmother’s love.
She’s taught me that when you look back over your life, it’s the little things that will matter the most. She once told me, “Always sit & hold a baby when you have the chance. There will always be housework to do but babies don’t keep.”
She’s shown me that it’s ok to be mad at someone, just don’t let them make you mad at the world. It’s also perfectly acceptable to slam the screen door every once in a while.
She’s taught me not to judge. A banana-mayonnaise sandwich sounds awful until you’ve tried one.
As a woman who was married for more than fifty years, I figured I’d better take heed when she gave me marriage advice. She told me two things when I got married: “Don’t let the sun set on your anger” and “Don’t start anything now that you don’t want to have to do for the rest of your married life.”
I sure wish I’d listened to that last one!
Of course, she also said, “You love him so much now and you just want to eat him up. One day you’ll wish you had.” As it turns out, Grandma is also one of the funniest and smartest people I’ve ever known!
Indeed, I have been extraordinarily blessed. Don’t think I don’t know- I do! There will never be another person who will love me the way my Grandma Helen does. It’s more than unconditionally; it’s with her whole being.
Not too long ago, several of the grandchildren were sitting around chatting when one of us (I don’t remember which) said, “Well, I know she loves ya’ll, but I’m her favorite.”
The others looked at each other and narrowed their eyes as if to say, “Oh? Is that so?”
I think it was Marcee who spoke up and said, “Uhm, I thought I was her favorite.”
Then I think I said, “Nope, it was definitely me.”
Then one of the others said, “Ya’ll are all wrong. It was me.”
As I think back on that, I realize that even though we all have different memories and see her from our individual perspectives, we all feel that same special love that makes us each her favorite.
Even so, I’m still quite sure I was the one who was right… I’m certainly her very favorite. ;)
Today, on her 94th birthday, I want her to know just how much she’s shaped and impacted me. Because of her, I am a better mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend and person than I would have been without her in my life. She has helped me become who I am today and I am humbly grateful. In all the years I am given, I know I will never find another person who loves me like she does.
Thank you, God, for giving me one of your dearest and best angels.
I love you, Grandma! Happy Birthday to you!
